


Queen and Crisis

by honey_wheeler



Series: The Threesome in the North [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Group Marriage, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome home, Val.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen and Crisis

“We missed you.”

“Mmm, did we?” Val asks, her voice nearly a purr. She stretches back on the sun-warmed grass of the meadow, one hand thrown above her head, the other curled around Jon’s neck, holding his face just close enough to hers that she can inhale in the breath he exhales. Despite the bit of chill clinging to the air, Val’s cloak and boots are discarded, her tunic pushed up to her ribs and her breeches pushed down to her knees. She curls her bare toes in the grass, knowing that the kneelers of Winterfell would find the weather still too cold for such undress; for Val, after days spend in the frozen stretch of country beyond the Wall, this might as well be Dorne.

Jon’s hands upon her feel even warmer than the sun. At first, he’d dragged his fingertips over every bit of her exposed skin, pulling free the laces of her tunic and tucking the cloth beneath her breasts so he could tease her nipples into stiffness, dipping one finger into the well of her navel, sliding his hand over the joint of her hip, his fingers flexing and testing the yield of the flesh that’s grown leaner since she began her journey north a moon ago. Now, though, he focuses his attentions on one place, two fingertips making maddeningly leisurely circles between her legs. 

“We did,” Jon confirms, his smile in his voice. “Sansa would want me to make sure you knew.” Val huffs out a laugh, shifting her knees a bit wider, arching her back a bit more.

“Sansa made sure I knew already,” she says, unable to keep the smirk from her lips, “in our bedchamber as soon as I returned.” And a lovely welcome home it had been, Sansa so eager for Val’s touch that she’d straddled her still in her gown and rutted sweetly and desperately against her until they’d both peaked, one after the other, Sansa’s cries vibrating in Val’s mouth. And that had only been the beginning. Val can still practically feel Sansa’s mouth on her cunt. She can definitely still taste Sansa’s sweet cunt on her tongue.

“Slattern,” Jon chuckles fondly, seeming to guess at the path of her thoughts. “You could not even wait for both of us to be present to start your seduction.”

“I could say the same of you,” Val gasps, rocking her hips up into his hand, attempting to urge him to a greater speed. It’s an attempt he resists, much to her equal frustration and gratification. “And you’re a fool if you think that I was the one doing the seducing.” Jon grins at her, bumping her nose with his. It’s a sweet gesture – far sweeter than Val usually allows – that’s made all the more touching for how it contrasts with what he does next, dipping his fingers deep inside her and then lifting them to his lips, lips that he paints shiny with her pleasure before he parts them and sucks the taste of her from his skin with an appreciative hum that makes Val’s whole body throb painfully.

“Luckily I am not entirely a fool.”

She can still feel the wet warmth of her pleasure on his fingers as he pulls her breeches off entirely, throwing them off to the side. She has half a mind to make him fetch them so she can use them for a pillow, but as that would distract from his current task, she decides she’s hardy enough to forgo the comfort. This is the first time she’s been able to relax entirely since she left, the first time she has no need of being alert and attuned to her surroundings on the sometimes treacherous road north and the often treacherous roads beyond. Here there is only Jon and the sun and the bite of the wind, a bite that makes her shiver almost as much as the feel of his nose skimming over her belly, his beard scraping delicate red patterns across her skin. For a moment he buries his face against her abdomen and breathes deep, as if drawing in her scent. It’s such a characteristic gesture for him, so primal and sweet at the same time, that it threatens to upend her heart. He saves her from making a fool of herself when he follows it by burying his face in her cunt and brushing his lips over her in a touch gentle enough to nearly tickle.

He intends to hurry, the dear, Val can tell. It’s not in his nature at the best of times, though. He would eat her out all the rest of the day and into the night if she let him. Val doesn’t usually want such lengthy ministrations. She likes to come, and then come again, and then set herself to making Jon or Sansa do the same. But she’s been apart from them for so long – she’s missed them desperately, the bloody kneelers – and she’s in the mood to indulge Jon in his fancies.

“You know,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows and allowing herself a smug inward smile at the way his eyes darken at the site of her thus, tunic still tucked beneath her breasts. “I really have no plans for the rest of the afternoon. Do you?” It takes him a moment to catch her meaning, but when he does, his eyes nearly roll back in his head and his mouth is back on her before she can even blink.

Gods, but it feels good. Val imagines it looks nearly as potent as it feels. She’s watched him do this with Sansa many a lazy afternoon or quiet evening – Val may not care for such a drawn out affair but Sansa is utterly mad for it, sometimes exhausting even Jon’s inexhaustible desires and indefatigable tongue – so Val knows just what he looks like now. Eyes closed in pleasure. Mouth soft, the corners ticked up into the slightest dreamy smile. Fingers stroking gentle circles at all the places where blood runs near the surface, the crease of her hip, the inside of her thigh, the back of her knee. For quite some time, Jon merely drags his tongue in lazy, upward strokes, lapping at her with an easy rhythm. A starter, she realizes with amusement. A first course. Laughter wells up in her chest, escaping her lips in something very near a giggle.

“Was that you?” he asks, turning his face to press his smile against the inside of her thigh. “Or did Sansa sneak out here to join us?”

“You are such a wit,” she says, but the effect is ruined by her continued laughter, a decidedly girlish sound.

“What is it that amuses you so?” Val smiles at him, liking the way he looks with his face framed between her legs, his lips pink and smudged from tasting her.

“I had a thought that you just had the first course and were going to start on the second. As if I’m a great meal and you’re savoring me.”

He raises his head more fully at that, fixing her with a look so hot she’s surprised her skin doesn’t blister. “You are,” he says. Then he licks at her, a long, slow drag that seems to touch her inside and out all at once. He raises his head and curls his tongue into his mouth with an elaborate motion, a cat enjoying his cream. “And I am.” He lowers her face again, working it into her with a deep groan, and begins his languid exploration again.

“Gods,” Val pants, dropping back to the grass with both arms thrown above her head. “Perhaps Sansa is on to something.”

He has never eaten her out with such ardor before, such primal intensity. It’s as if he’s learning her anew, finding every nook and crevice, wringing every type of gasp and cry and sigh out of her. And always slow, so slow she can hardly bear it, so good she wants it to last forever. The grass prickles the backs of her hands where they lie carelessly above her head. His shirt catches and slides against his back under her feet as she moves them restlessly, rubbing her heel from shoulder to spine, matching the curve of his ribs with her instep, feeling the taper from his arms to his surprisingly narrow waist. Or perhaps it’s only that his shoulders are broader than she remembered, that his back is more heavily muscled.

“Were you always so strong?” she asks, her voice sounding like something surfacing from the depths of an exquisite dream. She presses the balls of her feet over his shoulder blades to underscore her question, feeling the muscles bunch and flex as he slides his hands beneath her arse and raises her up to his mouth to get at her more thoroughly. _Gods_. He makes a low sound that she feels vibrating against her cunt to dazzling effect, his shoulders shrugging beneath her thighs.

“I suppose you could say Sansa and I did a lot of…hm, strenuous activity in your absence?”

“Wretch,” Val laughs. “I’ll expect you to tell me about every bit of it, sooner or later.”

There’s no more talk then, not for what seems like hours. Val couldn’t form words if she tried. All she’s capable of is sound, pure feeling forming itself on her lips and hanging in the air over them. Part of her could almost be embarrassed; she’s not usually so vocal. But there’s no one here in this meadow to hear her, no one to intrude on this hot, heavy, sacred thing between them. She peaks with bone-melting intensity, once and then a second time just after, a smaller echo of the first. Then Jon really settles to his task, torturously bringing her back up to the brink until she comes a third time, heels pressed hard into his back, hips canted off the ground, his face held so tightly against her with hand and thigh and muscle that he’ll probably suffocate before she’s done. But even when she drops gracelessly to the ground, every muscle limp, every limb boneless, he still licks at her, until she can’t bear another second and must twist away from him, settling onto her side with her knees pressed together and cocked before her.

“Goodness,” she manages. She feels his lips press a kiss between her shoulder blades before he settles behind her, his body a curving echo of her own, hips to hips, knees to knees, his arm sliding beneath her head to pillow her. She’s almost disappointed when his hand only splays across her belly rather than seeking her cunt, not that she would have been able to accommodate him for quite a while yet. He’s certainly ready for her now, she knows; he’s so hard against her arse that she thinks he could hammer nails. But he makes no move to continue. He only lies close to her, his breathing matching hers and his hand holding her close to him, as if he doesn’t want to let her get too far now that she’s back. It threatens to upend her heart all over again.

“I do believe it’s a draw,” she says lightly, in part to steady her emotions, emotions that seem all too ready to spill over and make a mess of things.

“Mm,” Jon murmurs, sounding almost as if he’d fallen half-asleep. “A draw?”

“Between you and Sansa. I assume this was a battle, was it not? Who can welcome Val home most appealingly?” His chuckle rumbles behind her ear and his arm about her waist tightens.

“I suppose we could call it that. A draw you say?” Now it’s Val’s turn to murmur. Despite herself, she wriggles back against him, thinking she really could drop off to sleep right here, wrapped in his cocoon. That is until his hand drifts lower to tuck between her thighs, reigniting the fires that had been only just banked. “Then I suppose we’ll have to battle it out tonight, won’t we?” 

Val twists in his arms, his hand moving easily to her arse, which he gives a light swat, grinning at her with a light in his eyes that’s almost unlike him. One that makes Val unsure whether she should leave more often or never leave again. She leans forward and touches her lips to his, breathing in his air.

“May the best kneeler win,” she says.


End file.
